Mus, a year old white cat, knew Mr. White hated it as yesterday, he flung it out like a piece of paper. It ran into a garage and rested in a car wheel until it heard Mrs. White voice, “Where’s Madu.” It stalked out, met her near her car standing with a news paper and entered between her legs.
In the evening, as it relaxed in her laps, it felt cold when Mr. White stared at it.
Had it understood poison, it’d have felt melting in its inside and wondered why it didn’t fear it. He would have bought a gun to shoot it and to bury its corpse behind the fence. Out of anger, If it’d have been difficult to shoot, he’d have like to shoot his wife when she returned home.
This would have finally put him in jail.
He’d enter the garage when Mrs. White was away, sprinkle the poison on its food, spy it to log how it’d eat it and first react in it up to how it’d collapse to dust. He imagined this more than 6 times and always pictured it in the washing room, not in the garage.
He’d executed it in his imagination.
The cat began to hide in the roof of the poultry house whenever its owner was not home.
This she never imagined. In the morning on Saturday, the day when she lived at home throughout when she had no any conference to present on Banking and Finance, she said over coffee, “Date.”
“Today’s date?” He asked.
“26th of June.”
“You got it.”
“It’s on the 28th of June. If I’m not mistaking, our daughter, Muni, who insisted I must buy her a cat to pet in the hostel, expects our visit.”
There’s nothing wrong with that, imitating colonialists, isn’t it?
He thought nothing else. Since he hated a cat, he didn’t want to think something else. This one here must die.
This one that craned its head up from Mrs. White’s laps and peeped at him, its red nose pointing to the white P.O.P. ceilling, its eyes innocent.
As it jumped down, it entered between her legs under a table and rubbed them with its hairs.
It saw two other legs similar to these ones, sniffed the left toe, which smelt and tasted salty, paused for a moment and sniffed again.
With a bitter strength, the left toe marched its head to the ground and crushed it.
“We must visit Muni on the 28th”, Mrs. White said. “I’d inform Makwin to drive us.”
“We must”, Mr. White replied, reajusting his sitting position after, he knew, the cat had left. Do whatever pleases you with your daughter, he thought, this cat must leave here. Dead!
He meant it, thinking he’d have poisoned it today if he’d rat poison. Even if it escaped to where he knew not, It must be in a poultry house. Better to live there.
“This bothers me”, Mrs. White said. “Assuming Makwin doesn’t have time, won’t
you drive us?”
“This is what you should have said earlier. I’ve been your driver all this while. That’s if I finally decided to go there with you.”
“You don’t mean it. I don’t mean so. Dont quote me wrong. Muni would be happy to see me with her dad in a family car. If you say no, it’s o.k.”
He said nothing.
“Are we going together?” She asked.
“I’ll tell you.”